


Take a Swing and See What Happens

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Deception, Developing Relationship, Fraud, M/M, Suits AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2611013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Suits AU.</strong> Grantaire is the best closer in town who needs an associate who can keep up with him. Enjolras is a brilliant kid who got kicked out of college and also happens to be one of the hottest guys Grantaire's ever seen. Yeah, there's no way this can go wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take a Swing and See What Happens

**Author's Note:**

> Based pretty closely on the pilot episode, so no knowledge of the TV show is required to understand what's happening here.
> 
> I've really worked my way pretty well through USA Network shows (Graceland, White Collar, Psych, Burn Notice, now Suits), but that doesn't mean I have any rights to them or anything else you see here. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“You know, while you happen to be one of the best lawyers in this firm, that doesn’t mean that the rules don’t apply to you.” Bossuet’s tone was casual but the look he gave Grantaire was anything but. “We have a dress code, and it requires you to actually wear a tie and preferably not smell like a distillery. And we also have a start time, and you are late.”

Grantaire gave Bossuet a roguish grin as he plopped down into the chair across from him. “Well, you know how it is. When you close one of the biggest cases this year, a man’s got the right to dress how he wants, show up when he wants, drink what he wants, sleep with whomever he wants…I have a feeling it’s going to be a very good year for me.”

Bossuet rubbed his temples and looked toward the ceiling as if seeking patience. “You really don’t seem to deserve this at the moment, but I am… _pleased_  to inform you that the partners of this firm have agreed that with your case being closed, you’ve been promoted to Senior Partner.”

Grinning even wider, Grantaire at least had the sense to sit up straighter in the chair. “Senior partner? I’ll take it. I’m assuming it comes with a pretty hefty bonus, so if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ve got some online shopping to do.”

He made as if to stand, but Bossuet held out a hand to stop him. “Not so fast. In addition to the generous bonus check, you’ve got another bonus coming your way: an associate all your own.”

Grantaire did not look excited by this news. In fact, he made a face as if Bossuet had just told him he needed a root canal. “An associate? Come on, Bossuet, I work better on my own.”

“All senior partners get an associate. That’s the rule. And if you ever want to see ‘Grantaire’ on that door with ‘Lesgle, Steele + Kahn’, you’ll play the game and get out recruiting for an associate.”

If anything, Grantaire looked even less excited as the prospect of recruiting. “Can’t we just hire that Harvard summer associate douche?” he asked, though it sounded more like a whine.

Bossuet returned to reading the file on his desk, not even looking up as he told Grantaire, “I think if you listen to the phrasing of that question, you’ll come up with an answer.”

Grantaire stood, running a frustrated hand through his hair as he paced in front of Bossuet’s desk, his forehead wrinkling into a scowl. “I need more than just the average Harvard graduate as an associate. I need someone who can think on their feet, not just another clone with a rod up his ass like every other Harvard graduate.”

“Lesgle, Steele + Kahn has made its brand in exclusivity by only hiring those who went to Harvard Law School, which is incredibly valuable in this market,” Bossuet said patiently, finally looking up to raise an eyebrow at Grantaire as he added, “Besides,  _you_  went to Harvard Law.”

Grantaire gave him a dirty look. “I’m an exception.”

Bossuet returned his look coolly. “Then find me another one.”

* * *

 

Enjolras leaned against the doorway of the nursing home room, raising a blond eyebrow at the man lying in the bed. “The doctors tell me someone’s not been taking his pills,” he said as a way of greeting.

Lamarque gave him a wounded look and said in his most pitiful voice, “That’s because they’re trying to poison me.”

“Now that’s just nonsense,” Enjolras told him, though he was grinning. “The doctor already promised me she wouldn’t poison you until  _next_  year.” He crossed over to the bed and held out the pills that Lamarque was supposed to take. “Here. For me.”

Lamarque sighed but reached out for the pills. “Fine. But then I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” Enjolras said instantly, sitting down next to Lamarque’s bed.

“I want you to stop.”

Enjolras stared at him, confusion clear on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—” he started.

Lamarque shook his head. “I may be old, but I’m not stupid. I know how you get your money. You always were too smart for your own good, from the day I took you in after you parents died. And I know that you’ve convinced yourself that you’re helping people, doing what you do, taking tests for people who need you to—” Enjolras shifted uncomfortably in his seat, thinking of just that morning, when he had been paid $500 to take the LSAT for someone who desperately wanted to get into law school “—but you’re cheating the system, and you’re not living up to your potential. You can do so much more than that, Enjolras.” Lamarque reached out with a shaking hand that Enjolras took. “I want you to promise me that you  _will_  do more than that.”

For a long moment, Enjolras was quiet. Then he nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I promise.”

From the doorway, someone cleared their throat, breaking the moment, and both Lamarque and Enjolras looked up at the doctor. “Mr. Enjolras, can I speak with you for a moment?”

Enjolras glanced back at Lamarque, who shooed him toward, and stood. “Take your pills,” he commanded before following the doctor out. “How is he?” he asked when they were both outside.

The doctor sighed. “Not well, unfortunately. He’s not responding to the current treatment as well as we would like.” She hesitated before adding, “And we may not be the best place to continue looking after your guardian. There’s a significantly cheaper state-run facility that—”

“I’m not going to put him in a state facility,” Enjolras said, his expression tight. “Not when he did so much for me, taking me in when I was just a kid. He’s all that I have in this world, and he’s one of the best men that I’ve ever met.”

Though the doctor nodded sympathetically, her voice was flat as she told him, “Then you’ll have to come up with $25,000 dollars to keep him here.”

Enjolras swallowed hard and nodded. “Let me make a call,” he said. “I’ll work it out, I promise.” The doctor nodded and walked away and Enjolras fished his cell phone out of his pocket, dialing a phone number he hadn’t called in a long time. “‘Parnasse? It’s me. I need a favor — a favor worth twenty-five thousand dollars.”

* * *

 

“It has been far too long,” Montparnasse said solemnly, gripping Enjolras by the arms before pulling him into a hug.

Enjolras shifted uncomfortably when Montparnasse didn’t immediately release him. “Yeah, it has been awhile,” he said, his voice strained. “But how can a guy forget the only person in the city who would let him move in after he’d been kicked out of university?”

Montparnasse finally released him and took a step back, grinning. “Hey, it worked out pretty well for me, all things considered. You using a small amount of your trust fund to renovate this apartment was very appreciated.” He picked up a bong from the table and took a hit before squinting at Enjolras. “So what do you need twenty-five K for anyway? I thought you were, like, loaded.”

“Not anymore,” Enjolras said grimly. “My guardian — well, really, he’s been more like my father — he’s been sick, and I’ve been paying for his treatments, but they’re expensive, and my trust fund’s just about run dry.”

Montparnasse at least had the courtesy to look concerned. “Dude, that blows.” He sat down on couch slowly. “And it almost makes me feel bad for what I’m gonna have to ask you to do for the money, but man, you know what I do with my life, so you had to have guessed.”

Enjolras swallowed. “I’m assuming I’m going to have to make some kind of deal.”

Gesturing almost lazily at the briefcase sitting on the table, Montparnasse took another bong hit before saying, “Yeah, that’s right. You’re gonna exchange that briefcase filled with prime pot for an identical briefcase filled with money. It’s a client that’s coming in from out of town, and I need someone I can trust to make the drop. It’s super easy, man, anyone could do it.”

“And I suppose I’m just supposed to ignore the fact that someone is more likely to die while dealing drugs than they are on Texas’s Death Row,” Enjolras said grimly.

Montparnasse just blew a smoke ring in his face and Enjolras sighed and grabbed the briefcase. “Good man,” Montparnasse said. “Take that to the Barricade Hotel, room 24601, tomorrow at 10am. And hey, you have to actually look presentable, so, you know, buy a suit. And maybe a comb.”

Enjolras made a face. “That’s a lot to ask.”

“And I’m not asking you. I’m paying you $25k.”

Sighing, Enjolras shrugged. “Then I guess I have no choice.” He turned to go, then paused and glanced back at Montparnasse. “You trust this buyer, right?”

Montparnasse smiled at him. “I wouldn’t send you if I didn’t.” Enjolras nodded and left, and Montparnasse’s expression turned shrewd as he pulled out his cell phone. “Claquesous? He’s in. In 24 hours, we’ll know if this new buyer’s a cop.”

* * *

 

Grantaire ran a hand through his already-frazzled curls. “Joly, I need the—”

Joly didn’t even look up from where he was setting up for the interviews. “It’s right there on the desk.”

Grantaire grabbed the piece of paper off the desk and scanned it while asking distractedly, “Oh, also, I didn’t get a chance to—” Joly pressed a cup of coffee into his hand as he brushed past him and Grantaire looked appreciatively at him. “Marry me?”

Joly just chuckled as he bent over the desk. “Oh, I took care of that a long time ago. We’ve been married for seven years.”

Laughing, Grantaire threw an arm around Joly’s shoulders and kissed his cheek. “If only we didn’t make such good friends, I would actually consider dating you.”

Rolling his eyes, Joly pulled away from Grantaire. “Keep that behavior up and you’re looking at a  _very_  expensive lawsuit.” They knew each other well enough to know that both were kidding and Joly grinned at him as he sat down at the desk in the front room. “So how do want this to go today?”

Grantaire sighed and shrugged. “Honestly, I’d rather it didn’t. I’ve got briefs to go over—”

“You mean briefs to have the paralegals go over,” Joly interrupted smoothly.

Grantaire ignored him. “—And besides I made reservations for sushi at that new place downtown because I got the chef out of a bind a few weeks ago, and I’d really like to not have to cancel it.” He glanced down at his watch. “Tell you what. Let’s expedite this process. Give each candidate a hard time before you send them back, and give me a wink if they say something clever. That work?”

Joly shrugged. “Sure. What are you looking for?”

Grantaire shrugged as well. “Another me.”

* * *

 

Enjolras nervously adjusted his tie as best as he could with one hand considering he really didn’t want to set down the briefcase in his other hand, just in case. He glanced at the placard in front of the concierge desk, advertising “LESGLE, STEELE + KAHN INTERVIEWS — ROOM 20005” and followed by, “WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE — THE POOL IS TEMPORARILY CLOSED”, before heading towards the elevator, his grip on his briefcase tightening.

* * *

 

Joly cracked his knuckles as loudly as he could and glanced down at the file in front of him. “Soooo,” he said, drawing out the syllable. “Chip. Is that honestly your real name? Chip? What’s your last name? Chocolate?”

The young man standing nervously in front of him shrugged. “No. It’s Michaelson? It should say it on the file. Besides, wouldn’t it make more sense for Chocolate to be my first name and Chip my last?”

Joly fixed him with a death stare before swiveling to stare at Grantaire as he opened the door. He shook his head, eyes wide, and Grantaire sighed before forcing a smile as he shook Chip’s hand. “I’m Grantaire, nice to meet you.”

* * *

 

Enjolras stepped off the elevator and took a deep breath because something just didn’t feel  _right_. At the end of the hall, a bellboy was attempting to open one of the hotel room doors, but his key card didn’t appear to be working, and the man standing next to him in a crisp business suit took the card from him and used it to open the door.

That in and of itself may not have been suspicious, but the bellboy’s glare and snapped, “That’s  _my_  job, dickhole” certainly was, especially when accompanied by the man’s complete lack of response. No hotel patron would have such a non-reaction to that, and no bellboy would  _ever_  say that to a patron.

Suddenly Enjolras’s throat seemed tight and his palms slippery, but it was with a forced nonchalance that he strode forward. “Excuse me,” he said politely to the bellboy. “I was thinking of going for a swim. Are the pool facilities here nice?”

“Of course, sir,” the bellboy said, a little stiffly. “This is the Barricade Hotel, after all.”

Enjolras flashed him a smile. “Right.” He switched his gaze to the man in the suit. “Do you have the time?”

The man’s brow furrowed, but he still lifted his arm to glance at his watch. “It’s 10 o’clock.”

Enjolras’s smile didn’t fade but his pulse certainly picked up as he spotted the gun that the man was wearing in a holster under his suit jacket. “Well, thank you both very much,” he said, hoping that his tone didn’t sound too weird and hoping that he wasn’t walking too quickly away from them.

He made it almost all the way to the staircase when he heard the guy in the suit command the bellboy, “Go after him and stay on the radio.”

Then Enjolras pushed the door to the stairway open and ran for his life.

* * *

 

Joly looked as if he was ready to murder a man with his bare hands. They’d been through almost twenty candidates already and not a single one matched either his own high standards or Grantaire’s (which Joly, having been Grantaire’s executive assistant/best friend for nearly a decade, knew as well as his own). With a sigh, he stood to call the next candidate. “Jean Prouvaire?” The assembled young men and women glanced at each other and Joly called louder, “Jean Prouvaire?”

Suddenly, the door to the room flew open and a young man with blond curls ran into the room, clutching a briefcase and looking panicked. “Are you Jean Prouvaire?” Joly asked, and the man just stared at him. “Is there a plausible reason you can give me for why you are five minutes late to the most important interview of your life?”

The young man looked confused and glanced behind him before looking back at Joly. “What? Look, I’m not here for any interview. I’m just trying to ditch the cops. I don’t really care if you let me in or whatever.”

Joly raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Grantaire, who looked just as frustrated as him as he let the latest candidate out. When Grantaire met his eyes, Joly half-smiled and winked.

* * *

 

Enjolras slowly walked into the room when Joly gestured him into it. “Um, hello,” he said, staring at the man sitting at the desk, conscious of the fact that he was at an interview for a law firm while holding $25k worth of marijuana. “I’m, uh, I’m Jean Prouvaire.”

The guy stood up to greet him, looking at him appraisingly as he crossed around the desk to shake Enjolras’s hand. “Grantaire. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Enjolras went to sit but as he did, the briefcase somehow opened up, the bagged weed inside of it spilling out and onto the ground. Grantaire looked down at it before looking up at Enjolras, who had turned bright red. “Well,” he said slowly. “It looks like you’ve got some explaining to do, Mr. Prouvaire.”

* * *

 

Grantaire propped his chin up on his hand as he watched Enjolras — who had finally given him his correct name — finish the story of how he had come to be there. It was a fascinating story, told by a fascinating — or at least, fascinatingly beautiful — man. “But how did you know that they were police?” he asked.

Enjolras shrugged, looking far more relaxed as he lounged in the chair. “I read this novel in elementary school, and it was basically the same exact scenario.”

“You read a novel…in elementary school,” Grantaire repeated incredulously. Enjolras just shrugged and Grantaire lips twitched in a smile that he quickly tried to hide. “Why did you ask what time it was, then?”

Enjolras shrugged again, though a smile tugged at his lips as well. “To throw them off. I figured no self-respecting drug dealer would ask what the time was, right?”

Grantaire laughed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Jesus. We should hire you. I’d give you the twenty-five thousand as a signing bonus.”

Enjolras smirked at him. “I’ll take it.”

“Yeah, unfortunately, we only hire from Harvard, and not only did you not go to Harvard, you didn’t go to any law school.”

Grantaire stood, ready to walk Enjolras — however reluctantly — out of the room, since the cops were assumedly long gone now. But Enjolras hesitated before saying, “What if I told you that I’ve actually passed the Bar exam?”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “I’d say that you’re full of shit.”

Enjolras’s responding smile was dazzling, and for a moment, Grantaire was taken in by it before he remembered what they were talking about. Enjolras nodded toward the book on the desk. “That’s a BarBri legal handbook right there, right? Open it up and read me a passage, any passage.”

Though Grantaire rolled his eyes, he obediently grabbed the book and opened it up to a random page. “Civil liability associated with agency is based on several factors, including—”

“—Including the deviation of the agent from his path, the reasonable inference of agency on behalf of the plaintiff, and the nature of the damages themselves,” Enjolras finished, sounding almost bored.

Grantaire stared at him. “How the hell did you know that?”

Enjolras smirked. “I learned it. When I studied. For the bar.”

For a moment, Grantaire just stared at him, then he threw the book at him. “Ok, hotshot. Let’s see what a Harvard lawyer can do. Pick a topic.”

Enjolras shrugged and flipped to a random page. “Stock option backdating.”

Grantaire grinned and put his hands in his pockets. “Although backdating options is legal, violations arose related to disclosures under RIC section 409A.”

Shrugging again, Enjolras told him, “You forgot about Sarbanes-Oxley.”

Grantaire’s grin turned smug and he said triumphantly, “The statute of limitations renders Sarbanes-Oxley moot post-2007.”

“Well, not if you can find actions to cover up the violation as established in the Sixth Circuit May 2008,” Enjolras said innocently.

Grantaire’s grin faded. “Impressive, but you do have the book in front of you.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Yeah, a book published in 2007, before that court case, and a book currently open to a section on civil liability for bankruptcy.” He turned the book to prove his point to Grantaire, whose smile faded even further. “Sorry, if you want to beat me, you’ll have to do it at something else.”

Shaking his head, Grantaire asked slowly, “How the fuck do you know all of that?”

Enjolras shrugged, for the first time looking a little embarrassed. “I like to read. And, generally, once I read something, I tend not to forget it.”

Grantaire chuckled, leaning against the edge of the desk. “Bet that’s a party trick that’s come in pretty handy over the years.”

Enjolras grinned up at him. “You have no idea,” he said, his voice low.

Grantaire smiled back at him, then realized how close he was standing to Enjolras and quickly stood to return to the other side of the desk, suddenly feeling very warm. “So why take the Bar?” he asked abruptly.

“Someone bet me I couldn’t do it without going to law school, and I had some free time on my hands,” Enjolras said carelessly.

Grantaire couldn’t decide if he wanted to kick this kid’s ass or kiss him senseless, but neither reaction was going to be particularly useful, and judging by how tight his pants were beginning to feel, he needed to end this sooner rather than later. “Look, this is all very fascinating, but I’ve got actual interviews to do, and I’m sure the cops are long gone.”

He stood carefully and brushed past Enjolras to open the door to the outside room. All of the waiting candidates looked up hopefully and Grantaire had to physically swallow his disappointment as he looked at them. He turned back around, closing the door behind him, and crossed his arms in front of his chest as he asked, “Listen, if you’re so smart, why didn’t you just go to law school?”

Enjolras looked down, a muscle working in his jaw. “When I was in college, it was my dream to be a lawyer. My guardian — he took me in when my parents died — he was a lawyer, a human rights activist, and I wanted to do the same thing, to help people. But I wasn’t just going to wait to help people until I got a law degree, and the university didn’t always look kindly on the activities I organized in order to bring about change. Long story short, I got kicked out of school, I had to use my trust fund for other purposes and — I got knocked into a different life. But I’ve been looking for a way back ever since.”

Grantaire had never believed in love at first sight, and this sure as hell wasn’t it. But he was starting to wonder if there was such a thing as love-after-half-an-hour-when-the-man-in-question-got-this-very-serious-look-on-his-face. Because if so, Grantaire was  _so_  fucked. “This isn’t elementary school,” he said abruptly. “This is long hours, hard work. I need a grown goddamn man.”

Enjolras stood, determination shining in his expression (and making Grantaire’s heart feel like it was doing cartwheels somewhere around his stomach). “You give me this and I will work as hard as it takes to school those Harvard douches and become the best lawyer you have ever seen.”

“Then I guess all I have to do is email the firm and tell them I’m hiring a new associate.”

Enjolras’s smile was so wide that Grantaire feared it might split his face. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. Starting on Monday, you will work for Lesgle, Steele + Kahn, but most importantly, you will work for me. You’re going to ditch the contents of that briefcase and you’re never going to speak to whomever got you involved in that again. And you’re gonna get on a plane this afternoon and go to Harvard and learn everything you can.” He glanced up at Enjolras and made a face. “Did you buy that suit?”

Enjolras looked down at it and frowned. “Yeah.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “Well, let’s buy some new ones.” He held out his hand for Enjolras to shake. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Enjolras said, beaming as he shook Grantaire’s hand. “You won’t regret this, I swear!”

Grantaire watched as Enjolras gathered his things and left and sighed heavily. “Yeah, I already do.”

* * *

 

Enjolras took a deep breath as he stepped off the elevator in front of the huge ‘Lesgle, Steele + Kahn’ sign, smoothing the front of his new suit as he approached the receptionist’s desk, suddenly nervous. “Good morning. I’m, uh, I’m here to see—”

“Take a seat,” the receptionist said in a bored sounding voice, pointing towards a seating area. Enjolras gave her a tight smile and headed over to the seats but got distracted on the way by the view out the window.

“Oh, wow,” he breathed, staring out onto the city from fifty floors up. It was an incredible sight, and one that for, whatever reason, seemed to solidify things for him — this was really happening. He was really going to be a lawyer. He was going to be able to help people. He was—

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice someone standing next to him until the person cleared his throat. “Enjolras?” Enjolras glanced over at the man, who adjusted his glasses before handing out his hand to shake. “My name’s Combeferre, and I’ll be giving you your orientation today.”

Enjolras gave him what he hoped was a charming grin. “Thanks, I’m—”

“No need for small talk,” Combeferre said, a little crisply. “I’m not interested in going out on a date with you. I’m not interested in being your friend.”

Enjolras stared at him. “I’m sorry, I’m not—”

Combeferre ignored him. “Trust me, I’ve done dozens of these and, without fail, whatever new hotshot it is thinks that just because I’m a paralegal, I’ll be blown away by his or her dazzling degree. Let me assure you, I’m not, and I won’t be.” He handed Enjolras a pad of paper and pen and told him, “Take notes. I won’t be repeating myself.”

With that, he turned to walk away, and Enjolras stared after him. “Holy shit,” he whispered, because either he was going to kill this guy, or they were going to be best friends.

He hurried to catch up with Combeferre, who started talking without looking over at him. “The firm operates on a chain of command model. Grantaire’s your commanding officer. However, Javert, he oversees all associates so you’ll also answer to him.”

“What do you think of Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, curious to get someone else’s opinion since he own opinion of Grantaire was probably a bit biased.

Combeferre glanced over at him and shrugged. “They say he’s the best closer in the city. I personally have very little contact with him, so I really don’t have an opinion beyond that.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “And what about this Javert?

Combeferre suddenly wouldn’t meet Enjolras’s eyes. “How about we just continue with the tour?”

They did, with Combeferre leading Enjolras around the entire floor until finally ending up in a backroom that was crammed with cubicles. “And here’s where you’ll be living.”

Enjolras slowly entered the tiny cubicle, setting the notepad down as he glanced around. “Wow,” he said, and when Combeferre raised an eyebrow at him, hastily added, “A good wow, I promise. This was actually more than I was expecting.”

For a moment, Combeferre looked impressed, but then he noticed Enjolras’s blank notepad. “You know, I gave you that for a reason,” he said stiffly. “You didn’t take a single note. I wasn’t talking to entertain myself, you know.”

“I know,” Enjolras said. “I didn’t need to take notes.” Combeferre rolled his eyes and Enjolras frowned slightly before reciting, “Partner’s offices anchor the wings. 5th floor’s research, 6 is security. All work gets billed, even if it’s finding an address. I answer to Grantaire and Javert and, judging by the way you responded to my questions, I should be respectful of Grantaire and I should fear Javert. You have been here for 5 years and just because I outrank you, does not mean I have the authority to command your services.” He paused before adding, a little wryly, “Oh, and it’s also pretty clear you think you’re too smart to be a paralegal.”

Combeferre looked at him appraisingly. “You know, no one likes a show off.” Still, he grinned at Enjolras before telling him, “I’ll leave you to get yourself settled. And good luck — you’re gonna need it.”

* * *

 

“You know, a funny thing happened when I came into work today,” Grantaire said in lieu of a greeting as he strolled into Bossuet’s office without knocking.

Bossuet sighed. “Did you sleep with my receptionist?” he asked. “Is that why she lets you in without telling me?”

Grantaire grinned. “No, oddly, but  _you_  slept with  _my_  receptionist.”

Bossuet glared at him. “And yet I still have to wait for permission to come into your office.”

Shrugging, Grantaire sat down at the chair across from Bossuet’s desk. “That’s because Joly likes me more.” He cleared his throat. “Now back to the funny thing that happened — or, more accurately, didn’t happen. I got to my office this morning and there was something missing from my door. Two words underneath my name — ‘Senior Partner’.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Bossuet said pleasantly. “I meant to tell you that we needed to discuss some of the terms of your promotion.”

Grantaire frowned. “What terms?” he asked. “I already hired an associate. His name’s Enjolras and he’s starting today.”

“That was one term, yes,” Bossuet acknowledged, starting to sound a little smug. “But there’s something else that I’m going to need you to do.” He grabbed a file off of his desk and tossed it at Grantaire, who barely caught it before it hit him in the face. “Pro bono case.”

Grantaire looked down at it, something close to disgust on his face. “Anything but that?” he asked plaintively.

Bossuet raised an eyebrow at him. “Pro bono cases are how the firm shows that we care about more than just ourselves.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t do them,” Grantaire said firmly, setting the file back on Bossuet’s desk. “I’m saying that  _I_  shouldn’t do them.” He gave Bossuet a look. “You know how I get with things like this.”

“I do know,” Bossuet said. “And I also know that I need you to prove to me that you care about more than just yourself. So you will handle this case yourself, and you will not pass it off to anyone.”

Grantaire sighed but picked the case up off of the desk. “Fine,” he said, and when Bossuet gave him a disbelieving look, snapped the file up to his forehead in a salute. “I mean, absolutely I will.”

* * *

 

“Here,” Grantaire said, tossing the case file at Enjolras, who scrambled to catch it. “Your first case.”

“Seriously?” Enjolras said, looking excited as he began flipping through the file. “What is it?”

Grantaire snorted. “Pro bono,” he said, as if that explained everything. “Don’t tell anyone that I pawned it off on you, and don’t fuck it up.”

Enjolras was barely listening as he flipped through the file. “Great. I won’t let you down. I’ll knock this out of the park.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “Easy there, kid. Just go meet the client and figure out what we’re dealing with.” Enjolras instantly stood and Grantaire frowned at him. “Didn’t I tell you to buy some better suits?”

Enjolras glanced down at himself, confused. “I did,” he said, and when Grantaire made a disbelieving noise, he said defensively, “Hey, I spent $500!”

“On how many suits?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras blinked at him. “5.”

Grantaire just sighed and shook his head. “You’re lucky that you’re pretty.”

* * *

 

Grantaire gave the man at the hot dog stand a tight smile as he took his hot dog before turning back to Enjolras, who was impatiently waiting for him. “So you need my help already? The point of pawning this case off on you was that I wouldn’t have to deal with it.”

Enjolras frowned and hurried to catch up with Grantaire as he strode back towards the office building. “Wait, it’s not like that, I just—”

“Whatever,” Grantaire said dismissively. “Just give me the update.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened, but he barrelled forward with the case details. “The plaintiff’s name is Éponine Thenardier. She’s acting a single mother to her little brother, and she seems like a very nice woman.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “On the case, dumbass,” he said. “I don’t get emotionally attached to clients, so the less details you give me, the better it’ll inevitably be.”

Enjolras stopped, glaring at Grantaire. “This woman had her life torn apart. Her boss demanded sex in exchange for job security, and she was fired because she said no, and you don’t even  _care_?”

“Now see, those are the details I care about,” Grantaire said pleasantly, and when Enjolras’s glare only deepened, he sighed and shook his head. “Look, what I care about is  _winning_. Caring about people — it’s messy and complicated and time-consuming.”

“That doesn’t mean that you can’t care about both winning and caring,” Enjolras challenged stubbornly.

Grantaire smirked. “I’d explain it to you, but then I’d have to care about you.”

“Right,” Enjolras said waspishly, following Grantaire inside the building. “Anyway, defense sent over the investigation files as a courtesy.”

“No they didn’t,” Grantaire said cheerfully, pushing the button for the elevator. “No one does anything as a courtesy. Not in this business. They sent those files because that’s where they want you to look.” They both stepped into the elevator and Grantaire told Enjolras, “Look, being a lawyer is sometimes like being a doctor.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him. “Because you can’t get emotionally involved with clients?”

Grantaire snorted. “Smart ass. No, because you have to keep pressing until it hurts. Then you know where to look.” Enjolras just looked confused and Grantaire sighed. “Think. If this guy has done this once…”

“Then he’s probably done this before,” Enjolras said slowly, realization clear in his voice.

Nodding, Grantaire stepped out of the elevator when it stopped at their floor. “And if the people who work for him now won’t testify against him, then someone who used to work for him might. Which means you need to subpoena personnel files for every woman who’s left this firm during this guy’s tenure.”

“Just women?” Enjolras asked, a little skeptically.

“We can talk about equal representation for male and female sexual harassment victims later,” Grantaire said dryly. “But statistically speaking, if this guy solicited sex from a woman, he probably did it to other women.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Ok, so there’s just one problem,” he said, and Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know how to file a subpoena.”

* * *

 

Enjolras hesitated before knocking on Combeferre’s office door. “Hey, I was hoping maybe you could help me with something.”

Combeferre didn’t look up from his computer. “I’ve got three other cases to deal with, so you’ll have to wait in line.” He glanced up then to smirk at Enjolras. “Though if this is about the subpoena that I heard Joly laughing about, I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere for help.”

“Ha, ha,” Enjolras said sarcastically. “Actually, the subpoena filing went off without a hitch, no thanks to Joly, who practically laughed me out of the room when I asked for help. No, I’ve got a hearing on said subpoena tomorrow, and I need your help. You’re the best researcher in this firm, or at least so I was told when I asked Joly why I got a cubicle and you’ve got an office.”

Combeferre finally looked up for real from his computer. “I  _am_  the best researcher,” he said calmly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that other cases take priority.”

Enjolras frowned. “Please, Combeferre?” he asked quietly. “This woman…she’s got nowhere else to turn, and I’m the only one who can help her.”

After just a moment’s hesitation, Combeferre sighed and held his hand out for the file. He scanned it then made a face. “You’re asking to look at private files without any evidence of your assertion.”

“That’s because the only place I can find the evidence is in the files.”

Combeferre looked skeptical. “That’s a pretty difficult argument to make.”

Enjolras shrugged helplessly. “But if there’s precedence…”

Combeferre stood, grinning at him. “Well, then, let’s go see if we can find some precedence.”

Two hours later found both of them sitting in the law firm’s library, surrounded by books, and Enjolras sighed, leaning forward to rest his head against one of the books as he groaned. Combeferre laughed and patted his shoulder. “We’ll find something,” he said confidently.

Without lifting his face, Enjolras asked, his voice muffled, “Remember when I said you were too smart to be a paralegal?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, why aren’t you a lawyer?”

Combeferre shrugged, his expression tightening. “I don’t test well,” he said, almost reluctantly. “I  _am_  smart, objectively speaking, but standardized tests have never been my friend. I had a 4.0 GPA in high school, and I barely got into college because I bombed the SATs. And don’t even get me started on the one time I took the LSAT.” He sighed and shook his head. “Even if I could get into law school, I’d never pass the bar.” He laughed almost sadly. “I almost wish I could pay someone to take it for me.”

Enjolras laughed weakly. “Yeah,” he said, not meeting Combeferre’s eyes. “That would really be something.”

He was going to turn the conversation back to the research when Combeferre shook his head and shoved the book away from him. “This is no use. They’ve done everything by the book and we look like we’re bad guys coming in and putting them under duress.”

Enjolras perked up. “That’s it!” he said excitedly.

Combeferre frowned at him. “What’s it?”

“Putting them under duress — look!” Enjolras pushed the book in front of him over to Combeferre, who smiled slowly.

“You know what? That just might work.”

* * *

 

Grantaire nodded slowly as he looked over the research Grantaire compiled. “Oh, this is good,” he said cheerfully. “We’re gonna have fun with this.”

Enjolras looked sharply at him. “We?” he asked. “You mean — you’re letting me come to the hearing?”

“Of course!” Grantaire said, and Enjolras looked mollified until Grantaire added, “I would never deny you the opportunity to witness my greatness.”

“You’re a true giver,” Enjolras said dryly, following Grantaire into the courtroom and sitting where he pointed as they waited for the hearing to start.

The defense’s counsel got to begin, and Enjolras scowled at him as he stood and said, “Your honor, this case should be thrown out. Other than her story, the plaintiff doesn’t have one piece of evidence.”

Grantaire stood, giving the judge a disarming smile. “That’s because the evidence we’re looking for is in their personnel files, which they’re conveniently refusing to hand over, claiming their employees have a right to privacy. Now, I could tell you exactly what I think about their pretense of giving a shit about their employees, but I won’t. Instead, I’ll point out that an investigation of sexual harassment must be conducted without any duress.”

Judge Valjean leaned forward slightly, a frown furrowing his brow. “And what’s your point with that, Mr. Grantaire?”

“Why, only that the investigator and every person being interviewed at their company answers to the very CEO that’s being investigated. Imagine, Your Honor, if your bailiff accused you of sexual harassment and you assigned your own stenographer to investigate. What do you think would be turned up in that investigation?”

Valjean raised an eyebrow at Grantaire. “You honestly think I would harass Fauchelevent?”

Grantaire gave Fauchelevent an appraising look and shrugged. “Hard to say, Your Honor. Some people do have a thing for a man in a uniform.”

Titters broke out in the courtroom, and Valjean banged his gavel to regain control. “Ignoring that for the moment, I’d like to think that Fauchelevent would come to me before things ever got as far as an investigation.”

Fauchelevent glanced up at Grantaire and shook his head slightly. The defense counsel sprang to his feet, pointing at Fauchelevent. “I saw that, Your Honor! I want that struck from the record!”

Grantaire ignored him. “But imagine Fauchelevent did come to you, Your Honor, and you betrayed his trust by firing him under false pretenses.”

“Do you really think that little of me?” Valjean asked, amusement clear in his voice.

Shrugging, Grantaire told him sincerely, “Sir, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”

After a brief moment, Valjean turned to the defense counsel. “Hand over the files. Today.”

“But—” the defense counsel spluttered, but Valjean ignored him, instead banging his gavel as an end to the hearing.

He stood to return to his chambers, then paused and glanced down at Fauchelevent. “Fauchelevent, I’d like to speak to you in chambers.”

They both left and Grantaire strutted back to the prosecutor’s table, a shit-eating smirk on his face, and Enjolras was finding it hard not to stare at him in admiration. It wasn’t that he had previously doubted Grantaire’s abilities, but seeing him in action — there was something about him that went beyond just being impressive. “That was incredible,” he told Grantaire sincerely.

Grantaire shrugged. “It was your argument,” he reminded him. “I just framed it in a way that humanized the situation and brightened all our afternoons.” He paused before adding, almost thoughtfully, “And possibly uncovered sexual harassment of poor Bailiff Fauchelevent by Judge Valjean.”

Enjolras snickered but quickly sobered up. “So now we get the files and go through them and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Grantaire said, raising an eyebrow at him. “ _We_  do nothing.  _I_  have a late lunch with a very important  _paying_  client.  _You_  get to go through the files.”

Though Enjolras didn’t really looked surprised by that, he still muttered, “So much for being a team.”

“We  _are_  a team,” Grantaire told him flatly. “And being a team means that we both do our part. And  _your_  part is to do the parts that I just don’t want to do.” He clapped Enjolras on the shoulder. “Get used to it, Tiger.”

* * *

 

Enjolras knocked on Combeferre’s office door. “So I wanted to let you know that we won, and that the files are on their way. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You wouldn’t even have known where to look without me,” Combeferre told him with a smirk.

Enjolras rolled his eyes as he said goodnaturedly, “Nobody likes a show-off.”

Combeferre’s grin softened. “I am glad that you won, though. And hopefully you find the corroboration that you need in those files. I think—” He broke off as his phone rang. “Hold on a second. Hello?” He raised his eyebrows at Enjolras. “Yeah, he’s right here. Ok. Conference room C. Thank you.” He hung up, his smirk returning. “Your files are in conference room C.”

“Why are they in the conference room?” Enjolras asked. “Why wouldn’t they just have brought them to my cubicle?”

Combeferre shook his head. “Oh, I forget how much you have to learn. I have a feeling I know why, but you’ll find out as soon as you get to the conference room. Head over there now, and I’ll meet you there in a moment.”

Enjolras shrugged and left, heading to the conference room and stopping in his tracks in the doorway when he saw what awaited him: cartons and cartons, assumedly filled with files, covering about every free space in the conference room. “Holy shit,” he breathed, stepping into the room and glancing around.

“That would be why they’re in the conference room and not your cubicle,” Combeferre said from the doorway, sounding probably more amused than the situation merited. “They’re trying to bury you in paperwork.”

For a moment, Enjolras felt something like panic well in his chest, then his expression turned determined and he lifted the lid off of the first carton. “Well, they picked the wrong guy,” he said grimly.

“If they didn’t, then I did,” Grantaire said, striding into the office and looking around, almost mildly impressed by the sheer quantity of paperwork. “Get it done by the end of the week, would you?”

He didn’t wait for Enjolras’s response before brushing out of the office again. Combeferre looked like he was trying not to laugh as he stepped into the room. “Well, it looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you. Luckily for you, I brought someone to help. Enjolras, meet Courfeyrac.”

A short, smiling man with dark, curly hair followed Combeferre in, positively beaming as he held out his hand for Enjolras to shake. “Courfeyrac,” he said. “I’m a fellow associate, though I started a few months back. I got assigned to Mabeuf as my senior partner. He’s good, but he’s no Grantaire.”

Enjolras made a noncommittal noise, still engrossed in the box, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre exchanged glances before Courfeyrac said pointedly, “Everyone’s pretty jealous that Grantaire chose you to work with. Most associates would give their right arm for a chance to work with him. Has he been a great mentor thus far?”

“He’s been…something,” Enjolras said slowly, flipping through the files. When this was met with silence, he glanced up to find both Combeferre and Courfeyrac staring at him expectantly. “What?”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glances again before Combeferre hedged, “Grantaire’s just never had an associate before, so we were curious what he was like to work with. Especially since you two just seem to…I don’t know, to click.”

Now Enjolras looked startled. “You think?” he asked before shrugging as he returned to the files, though his attention seemed elsewhere and the speed with which he flipped through the files was slower, almost contemplative. “I mean, he’s…I don’t even know. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met before.”

This time, the glances that Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged were knowing, and Courfeyrac cleared his throat. “Well. We’ll just help you get some of these sorted and then leave you to it. We’ve got a date tonight.”

“Oh, both of you?” Enjolras asked. “With whom?”

Courfeyrac snickered as Combeferre cleared his throat. “With each other.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, then— “ _Oh_.” He looked up at them both, eyes wide. “I didn’t…I mean…uh…is that…allowed? So to speak? I mean, Courfeyrac, aren’t you technically his superior?”

Courfeyrac gave Enjolras a slow smile. “Oh, it’s not  _strictly_  allowed, but as long as it doesn’t affect our work, the firm normally operates under a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy.”

“You should keep that in mind,” Combeferre told him, feigning innocence. “In case, you know, anyone meets your eye.”

Enjolras stared at them both as if they’d grown extra heads. “O…k…” he said slowly. “I will do so. But if you two have a date that you need to get to, you should feel free to go. I can handle this.”

Combeferre hesitated, but Courfeyrac said brightly, “Great! Well, it was nice meeting you, and good luck with the files…and with Grantaire.”

“Um. Thanks.”

Enjolras watched them go, more confused than anything, then shrugged and turned back to the files. He had too much work to do to try and decipher whatever Courfeyrac and Combeferre were going on about.

* * *

 

Grantaire was whistling under his breath as he turned the lights on his office, then promptly dropped his briefcase in surprise when someone sat bolt upright from where he had been sleeping on Grantaire’s couch. “Jesus Christ,” Grantaire gasped. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Enjolras stared wildly around, his blond curls perfectly flattened on one side of his head and standing up wildly on the other. “Whozzair?” he managed.

Grantaire picked up his briefcase to set it down with far more force than necessary on his desk, smirking when Enjolras jumped. “That would be me, Grantaire, whose office this is. The office that you were sleeping in.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, blinking rapidly as he slowly returned to consciousness. “Right. I found where they don’t want us to look.”

Looking impressed almost against his will, Grantaire asked, “You got through all of those files in one night?”

Enjolras shrugged, rolling his shoulders forward before ruffling his hair with both hands (Grantaire tried very hard not to stare at him as he did so). “I would’ve gotten through it sooner, but I ordered a pizza.” Grantaire rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “There was a dismissal two years ago, one Musichetta.”

“Ok,” Grantaire said, sitting down at his desk. “So why are you telling me this? Go talk to her.”

Enjolras sat down across from him, grinning. “I already did.” Grantaire again looked impressed, and Enjolras continued, “I went to see her first thing this morning, when it got to be a reasonable hour anyway, and don’t think I don’t realize that I have to come into work at 7 but you don’t have to stroll in here until 9. Anyway, I went to see her, and I talked her into testifying.”

Grantaire snorted. “Well, I’m glad to see that staying up all night doesn’t make you a complete incident. And I’m going to assume that you went to see her before your little nap because if not, your hair really didn’t do you any favors.”

Enjolras scowled. “Whatever. The point is, I found her, and she is going to testify at the deposition tomorrow.”

“And you did a very good job with that,” Grantaire said, sincerely, reaching out to pat Enjolras’s hand, and both men suddenly couldn’t meet each other’s eyes. Grantaire cleared his throat and said gruffly, “And to congratulate yourself, you should go home for a few hours and sleep. I need you refreshed for the deposition tomorrow.” Enjolras smiled slightly and stood, and Grantaire added quickly, “Oh, and shower, would you? This is a law firm, not a frat house.”

“Yes sir,” Enjolras said eagerly before turning and heading out, brushing past Bossuet, who was waiting at the doorway, as he did.

Bossuet glanced from Enjolras’s retreating back to Grantaire, an eyebrow raised. “Please tell me you didn’t hire as your associate what’s going to end up being a very pretty sexual harassment suit.” Grantaire just shrugged and Bossuet rolled his eyes. “Well, we can discuss that later. For now, I want to know how the pro bono case is going.”

Grantaire grinned easily at him. “It’s going great. I just talked a key witness into testifying.”

“Oh really,” Bossuet said coolly. “What’s the witness’s name?” Grantaire just stared blankly at him and Bossuet shook his head, a muscle working in his jaw. “Goddamnit, Grantaire, I am not an idiot. Do not treat me like one. I gave you  _one_  condition—”

“I’ve got other cases!” Grantaire protested, but Bossuet ignored him.

“May I remind you that when we first met, you were a screwup, and alcoholic barely making it through the day? I gave you a chance when no one else would, led you up the ranks and then paid for you to go to Harvard, where, by the way, you jerked off the entire time you were there, and I still hired you.”

Grantaire leaned forward, his eyes flashing angrily. “And you’ve benefitted from that decision just as much as I have, so don’t pretend otherwise.”

Bossuet ignored him again, instead saying with a low voice, “You made a promise to me. You broke it and then you lied to my face.” He leaned forward, resting his hands against Grantaire’s desk, and told him, “So, let me make this clear, this isn’t professional, this is personal. And I’ll tell you something else. You made your bed, so you better goddamn win.”

* * *

 

“What happened with the witness?”

Enjolras didn’t look up from where he was staring down at the blank space on top of his desk, empty except for a single piece of paper printed with thirteen simple words on official Lesgle, Steele +Kahn letterhead:  _To Whom it May Concern: I hereby resign my position as associate. Enjolras_. “I fucked up,” he said quietly.

Grantaire leaned against the desk, his expression unreadable. “And you couldn’t fix it?”

“I tried,” Enjolras said sincerely. “The circumstances of her dismissal weren’t in line with what was in the file. Apparently, she wasn’t dismissed at all — she quit, and the defense counsel ran all over us with that fact. She won’t be a reliable witness anymore, and even if she was, she’s refusing to testify. Meaning our case is sunk.”

Grantaired nodded down at the paper in front of him. “So you’re just going to quit?”

Enjolras looked up at him for the first time. “I figured it was either that or have you fire me.”

Grantaire’s lip curled. “Am I supposed to feel bad about that? You had a job to do, and you didn’t do it. And now you’re threatening to quit when what you should be doing is marching over to that witness’s house and convincing her to testify!”

“I tried!” Enjolras shot back. “There’s no way.”

Shaking his head, Grantaire told him, “There’s always a way.”

Enjolras glared at him. “Then why don’t  _you_  go convince her?”

“Because you’re the one that fucked this up.”

Enjolras stood, agitated, his hands curling into fists. “Oh, and because you don’t give a damn about the client, right? Just like how you don’t care about anything, especially not me, because if you did, you’d be offering to help me, or standing up for me, instead of just…just this!”

Grantaire stared at him. “Stand up for you?” he asked incredulously. “I put my ass on the line for you by hiring you in the first place! And as it turns out you may have had the balls to get the job but you apparently don’t have the courage to stick it out when things get tough.”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Enjolras asked, his face ashen.

“I’ve yet to see any evidence to the contrary,” Grantaire said coolly.

Enjolras slammed his hand down on the table. “I am  _not_  a coward,” he snarled. “But even if I was, I’d rather be a coward than a cynical asshole who doesn’t give a damn about anything! Because at least that way I know that I’m being who I was meant to be, rather than what you  _want_  me to be.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Grantaire demanded.

“It means that I’m not going to turn into you,” Enjolras told him, pride and anger mingled in his tone. “I want to be a lawyer to help people. And if I can help people by winning, then that’s great, but winning is not endgame for me, and it never will be.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to turn you into something you’re not,” he said dismissively. “I just want you to be the lawyer that I know you _can_  be. And if you quit right now over something like instead of trying to make things right, then I was wrong about you this entire goddamn time.”

With that said, he left, turning and storming away from Enjolras, not waiting to see his reaction or listen to any more of his bullshit. He was positively furious. The last thing he needed right now what this shit, and form someone that he had thought…

Well, that didn’t really matter now.

He stormed up to Joly’s desk. “I hope you weren’t planning on doing anything tonight because we have files to go over,” he snapped.

Joly blinked up at him. “Do I even want to know what crawled up your ass and died?”

“It’s Enjolras,” Grantaire said, as if that answered the question. He started to head into his office, then stopped, turning around and glaring at Joly. “You know, this is really all your fault. I told you that I was looking for another me, and  _that_ —” he pointed his finger in the rough direction of Enjolras’s cubicle “—that is not another me.”

A look of understanding flitted across Joly’s face. “You’re right,” he said coolly. “I didn’t get you another you. I got you what you needed, and trust me, the last thing you need in your life right now is another you.”

Grantaire made a growling noise. “That was not your call to make!”

Joly arched an eyebrow at him. “Maybe not,” he said, shrugging slightly. “And if you don’t want him, then you can fire him. That’s your call.”

"If I don’t  _want_ —” Grantaire cut himself off, swallowing hard as he turned away. “Trust me, this has nothing to do with what I want. I can’t have an idealist working for me. It will crush him, what we do in this line of work, and what I  _want_  is to not have that responsibility on my head.”

Joly leaned forward. “Bullshit,” he said. “This has  _nothing_  to do with that. This has to do with the fact that you’ve got feelings for the kid.” Grantaire snorted and shook his head, but Joly barrelled onward. “You can deny it all you want, but I  _know_  you. I’ve known you for years, and you’ve got it bad. So instead of dealing with it like a normal human being, you’re blaming him for something that you never would’ve handled as a first-year associate.”

Grantaire stared at him, emotions written stark on his face, and then he just shook his head. “That’s not true,” he muttered. “And even if it was — which it’s not — it’s not like we can do anything about it. He’s an associate, and he’s basically quit anyway.”

Now Joly sat back in his chair, a smile forming on his face. “And if you didn’t care about him, you would’ve just let him quit.”

For a moment, it seemed like Grantaire was going to argue more, when suddenly a look of understanding dawned on him. “Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, of course. The inconsistency — the quitting — it all makes sense.” He looked back at Joly. “I need you to get me the phone address for the witness that was deposed today.”

“What for?” Joly asked, already digging for the file.

Grantaire smiled slightly. “I figured out how we’re going to win.”

* * *

 

“I see you came to work today.”

Enjolras shrugged, leaning against the doorframe of Grantaire’s office. “Well, I didn’t have anything better planned, so I figured I might as well show up.” Grantaire leaned back in his chair, looking up at him appraisingly, and Enjolras blushed slightly. “I, uh, I wanted to apologize for yesterday—”

“Forget about it,” Grantaire said dismissively. “Bossuet rode me so hard in my first year that I think I quit about once a month. I just told you what you needed to hear.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Enjolras said, a little hesitantly. “Maybe I need someone in my life who will actually tell me what I need to hear. And maybe…maybe it’s time I started trusting someone else.”

Grantaire looked at him for a long moment, then lifted up the file folder from his desk and held it out for him. “Here,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

Enjolras crossed over and grabbed it, scanning through the contents, his face lighting up. “Is there real?” he asked.

Grantaire half-smiled. “It is. And I believe you know just what to do with it.”

Enjolras grinned at him. “Press until it hurts.”

* * *

 

Enjolras stood in front of the defense counsel’s table, spreading the evidence out for them to see. “Wire transfer from your account to Ms. Musichetta’s. Phone records with Ms. Musichetta prior to her testimony. And, an affidavit stating you paid Ms. Musichetta to falsely testify. Now, harassment is a civil violation; the penalty is money. But witness tampering, that’s a crime. And you will go to prison, where I guarantee you’ll learn more about unwanted sexual advances than you can possibly imagine.”

The defense counsel’s lip curled. “Even if this evidence was credible, you’re never going to find someone to prosecute a small time witness tampering case.”

“Oh, is that so?” Enjolras asked, turning to Grantaire, who was hiding his grin. “Didn’t you go to law school with the current US Attorney for the city? What was his name, Bahorel?”

Grantaire nodded. “That’s right, I did. And you know, he might be interested in pursuing a case like this.”

Enjolras feigned surprise. “Oh, are you two close?”

“We have a standing boxing match every week.” Grantaire winked at the defense counsel. “I sometimes let him win, stoke his ego a little.”

The defense counsel cleared his throat. “What deal are you willing to make?”

“An admission of guilt, and a guarantee that your client will seek treatment before working again. Éponine will get reinstated. With back pay.”

The defense counsel sighed and shrugged. “Fine.”

“And a raise.”

Now the defense counsel rolled his eyes. “Are we done?”

Grantaire tapped Enjolras’s lightly on the chest with the back of his hand. “Hey, doesn’t Ms. Thenardier have a younger brother that she looks after? I think it’d be nice if she didn’t have to worry about paying for his college tuition when the time comes.”

The defense counsel sighed and stood, gathering his papers together. “Gentlemen,” he said crisply. “We’ll get the settlement papers faxed over to you this afternoon.”

He shook both Enjolras and Grantaire’s hands before leaving, and Enjolras and Grantaire turned to look at each other, Enjolras unable to contain his grin for any longer. “We did it!” he exclaimed, and Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Congratulations,” he said dryly. “But it was only your first case, and you’ve got many more coming.”

They started gathering up their things as well as the courtroom emptied. Enjolras glanced over at Grantaire as the last person left. “So why did you go over to Musichetta’s house?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Because I figured out the inconsistency.”

“I object,” Enjolras said in his more lawyer-sounding voice, grinning at him. “I think you went because you care.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I went because it was my job.”

“Bullshit,” Enjolras said, good-naturedly. “You do care. I know you do. I saw you smile when I showed up for work this morning.”

“I was remembering a funny joke,” Grantaire said, a little weakly.

Enjolras smirked. “Bullshit,” he repeated. His grin faded slightly as he asked, “Did you really quit when you first started?”

Grantaire stared up at him. “Of course not,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry as he realized how close they were standing in the empty courtroom. “I’m not a wuss.”

“And you’re saying I am?” Enjolras asked.

Instead of answering, Grantaire kissed him.

Enjolras kissed him back, opening his mouth against Grantaire’s, turning the kiss heady before abruptly pulling away, his eyes wide. “Are we…can we do…this?” he asked breathlessly.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re literally practicing law without a license, and I was the one who sanctioned it. I think making out against the company rules is literally the least of either of our concerns.”

Though Enjolras smiled, it was short lived, and he took a step back from Grantaire. “I am practicing law illegally,” he said quietly. “We could both go to jail for that.”

“That’s incredibly unlikely,” Grantaire told him, his own smile fading as well. “I would probably be disbarred — you might face some jail time but more likely a fine and a promise never to do it again.” Enjolras shook his head wordlessly, and Grantaire took a step closer, reaching out to grab his hand. “Listen, I will do everything in my power to make sure that nothing bad happens to you because of this.”

Enjolras frowned slightly at him. “Is it because you…you know, because you like me?”

Grantaire snorted. “No, it’s because I believe in you and I think you’re a damn good lawyer.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in anything,” Enjolras told him.

Grantaire shrugged, smiling slightly. “Well, I lied. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. But in this case, I’m telling the truth. Anyone goes after you, and they go after me just the same. Ok?”

Enjolras nodded, and together they left the courtroom. “You know,” Enjolras said casually as they hailed a cab, pretending to ignore the way that Grantaire’s free hand was resting lightly against the small of his back, “it’s a real shame that the walls in your office are made of glass.”

“That is true,” Grantaire said, opening the cab door for Enjolras and sliding in after him. “But you know, Javert’s office doesn’t have glass walls.”

Enjolras glanced over at him, eyes widening. “I was joking,” he said.

“I know,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras relaxed, chuckling a little, until Grantaire added casually, “But I wasn’t.” Enjolras just stared at him and Grantaire laughed and leaned over to kiss him.


End file.
